Flightless Birds
by amazinglilli
Summary: The games are over. The war is over. But what do I have left? Prim is gone. Finnick is gone. Cinna is gone. Mom is in district 4. Gale is in district 2. Everything I had that was even close to normal is now nonexistent. The only thing I have are my memories, and even those might not be safe anymore. Once again everything is going to change, hopefully this time for the better.
1. Chapter 1

I sit up in bed, my eyes wide open, paralyzed with fear, as I try to catch my breath.

_pant, pant, pant_

I haven't gotten a good nights sleep in months, but that doesn't stop the nightmares from returning. They have become less frequent since Peeta started staying with me again but they still haunt me night after night.

"It's okay Katniss, it's not real," Peeta says rubbing my back slowly as he tries to get the images out of my head.

"It was Snow," I whisper, the words seeping out of my mouth like the poison from his sores. "He got her and destroyed her. I was supposed to protect her and I failed. She screamed for me, asking for help but it was too late. She was so mangled and torn apart..." I pause, too choked up to talk. "...she was so young and so pure and I let her get torn to bits." My sister who I had volunteered for in the first games. The one I swore to protect with my life, now dead. Waking up wasn't going to make that go away.

"It's not your fault, Katniss. She was inside the gates," he says softly, but he knows I just can't let it go.

"I could have gotten to the square quicker, warned her," I say pulling at my hair.

"You know that's not true. You'd be gone too and she would have resented your decision. The thing she wanted most was to keep you alive. Why do you think she became so strong? It wasn't because she had to grow up, it was because she wanted to. To protect you. She would want you to be happy and move on. Wouldn't you want the same for her?" Somehow he always knows what to say, no matter what. "Just go back to sleep. You need your rest," he says snuggling me close and kissing my forehead.

I wake up a few hours later to the tickling smell of eggs and rabbit tips. I quietly get out of bed and tiptoe downstairs, to see Peeta slaving over the stove. As soon as I walk in the room he looks at me, his eyes showing how nervous he is. I can tell something was wrong, just by his look. He never was good at hiding things from me.

"What's going on? Peeta, what's wrong?" I say quietly inching toward the table and picking up a rabbit tip.

"What do you mean?" he says smiling nervously. "Who says I can't make you a nice breakfast just because?"

"Don't lie to me. What happened?"

"You got a letter..." He pauses, his palms turning red. "...from Gale's boss. They sent it to Haymitch by mistake. It doesn't look good."

My legs go numb. "What happened?" I insist, though I already know the answer.

"He's gone."

It is as though the world has frozen in time and in one instant, it all falls apart. All life becomes a blur. All feeling becomes numb. All noise becomes silent. I don't even realize I'm screaming until I feel Peeta's hand on my cheek. He kneels down and pulls my shaking body close, but even that doesn't calm me down.

It's at least an hour before he slowly helps me up from the floor, though my legs are as useful as twigs to support my weight. Everything feels blurry, like I'm in a daze. The blinding sensation so strong it reminds me of the tracker jacker venom from my first games.

"Come on, right... there," Peeta says helping me to the chair in front of the fire place. He can obviously tell that I'm not going to make it any further.

"H-how... What happened?"

"His room-mate found him dead on the floor..." He pauses and crouches down in front of next to me before slowly and gently cupping my hand in his. "...he killed himself."

"No, h-he wouldn't do that. What about his family, what about me? He would have told me," I say trying to climb out of the chair, but I am too weak.

Peeta soothingly hushes me and runs his fingers over the smooth side of my hand in an attempt to comfort me. His expression so pitiful, something I dread more than his words. "He left a note, Katniss. He's gone."

As grief settles in I feel even more helpless. Once again I find myself practicing a hunger strike, though this time involuntary. I don't talk much, at all, not for the next week or so. I don't even move out of the chair. All I do is stare at the fire all day, like somehow that will bring him back.

I hold onto the possibility that it's just a mistake, that somehow he will spring up out of the ashes and everything will go back to normal. Us hunting in the woods and trading our game at the Hob. Him and I against the world, but soon I remember even that isn't normal anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. I haven't seen him in months, and yet that's what hurts the most, all the possibilities. All the opportunities for us to see each other again and attempt to get things back to what they used to be, or close to it, gone. It's just like the mining accident, the parachutes, or the bombings. Everything I have ever known, suddenly gone, and it's never coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

"That dress looks beautiful on you," Peeta says as I walked down the stairs.

"You don't have to say that," I say coldly. "It's not going to change what it's for."

Somehow I never can see it. How Gale, my mother, Peeta, and Prim can always call me beautiful. To me when I look in the mirror, no matter what I'm wearing, all I see is the hate and loss I cause everyone I love. No amount of compliments can cover that up.

I look almost unrecognizable compared to my old self. The only thing that looks the same is my dress. It was my mothers. She left a couple of them behind after the District 12 bombings. It's a pale pink dress with little flowers lining the bottom. The grey stripped sweater I wear over it fits a little big, but I don't care. I'm not in the best mood at the moment.

I look at myself as I fix my braided charred hair. It still hasn't fixed itself since the incident and I no longer have a prep team to worry about it. I've twisted it into a bun, like my mother did for me on reaping day. Peeta can see the resemblance too. I can see it in his face through the corner of the mirror that hangs in the hallway as he looks down at the floor.

He wears black pants with a dark grey button-up shirt. His hair classically greased back and tucked behind his ears. It's a little overgrown but barley noticeable. His usual smile is hidden by sadness, like a cloudy day hiding the sun from shining out onto the world. He didn't know Gale that well but they talked a little, mainly because of me. Their only real relationship was an understanding or slight friendship, if that, but I guess that doesn't matter when you lose someone. A loss is a loss, no matter how you say it.

"We should really go get Haymitch," Peeta said creeping up behind me.

"No, I'll go. Johanna and Annie will be here soon. They'll need someone to show them the way."

"Are you sure?" he says, his hands holding mine.

"Yeah," I say struggling to show a smile. "I'll see you in an hour, okay?" I quickly give him a peck on the cheek and head out the door to Haymitch.

"Haymitch, you awake?" I yell opening the door.

As I walk in the overpowering smell of alcohol hits me like a punch in the stomach. Usually I'm immune to it but Peeta has been the one checking up on him since what happened so I have lost my tolerance for the stench of musk drenched in lighter fluid. The entire place is a mess. Bottles and glasses scattered on every surface in sight. Some half full, some only leaving a drop, but none left untouched. The carpet so stained I don't even know what color it was originally, though I doubt he does either.

Haymitch sits slumped over in a wooden arm chair next to the kitchen table.

"Haymitch, get up!" I yell walking over to the table and grabbing a two beer bottles off the table. Seeing he doesn't respond I raise them above my head, and smash them against the edge of the table in an ear shattering crash, guaranteed to wake even the heaviest sleepers.

"Ahhhh...what the hell was that for?" Haymitch screams waving around his knife and swearing.

"I tried yelling but you were passed out. What else did you expect me to do?" I ask crossing the room to open the shades.

He squints as his eyes adjust to the light. "Be more gentile maybe."

He must be joking. Since when have I ever been gentile? If anything I was understanding of his situation and what he had been through, more now than ever.

As he begins to pull himself out of the chair I turn on the bath facet and put on a cup of coffee. Something has to get rid of his hangover.

Once he finally does pry himself out of the chair he can barley stumble towards the bathroom. He's so intoxicated I practically have to drag him into the shower. Moaning as I pull his head under the facet, he starts swearing and spitting out water all over the bathroom floor.

"Ahhhh," he screams sloshing his head around, trying to wiggle it away from my grasp. "Ever heard of careful?"

"We don't have time for that. The funeral starts in a half hour and we're not going to be late," I say standing up and throwing a towel at him.

"Well aren't you especially happy today, sweetheart," Haymitch says drying his long greasy hair with the cotton towel. His wet hair leaving drops on the wooden floor.

"Sorry, it's just... hard," I say collapsing into a chair and covering my eyes with my hands.

"Trust me, I know," he sighs walking over behind me with only a towel around his waste, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I know." His hand sits like a rock on my shoulder but slowly it slips down and _thud,_ he hits the ground.

I lift up my head with a sigh. "Oh, what the hell? Your probably better off with a drink in you anyways," I say pouring some whisky into his cup. "Better than cold turkey."

It's true. I remember those horrible days of sobriety. His rambling attacks on everything from me to the carrot stew. His eyes were always bloodshot, his hands trembled, and his temper was worse than usual. Let's just say the Buttercup wasn't the only thing giving people scratches during the middle of the night. Since our stay in District 13 I haven't seen him without a bottle in hand, and he actually seems more pleasant. As long as he isn't passed-out-drunk why can't he have a little? I even reach for the glass cup on the table gulping it down but stop and cough soon after as I feel the burning liquid trickle down my throat.

"Don't hurt yourself sweetheart."

"Oh, shut up and cough, put some clothes on," I say holding out my hand to help him steady himself.

He slowly gets up and limps around the house gathering his clothes and getting changed. He wears his usual, a light blue with black pants and a grey vest. His sloppy hair falls at his chin, still wet from the bath. I walk over to him and fix his tie and collar. He looks okay, or at least decent.

"So, we should be going," I say

"I'm sorry. You know that right?" he says, his eyes fixated on mine. His seriousness catches me by surprise. "I know Gale meant a lot to you."

My eyes start to water. Not this. Not now. This is why I can here, to avoid the tears I've been trying to hold back. To hide the broken pieces that have been left behind. Haymitch is the only one who doesn't ask about my feelings or how things are. He's the only one who understands that sometimes it's better to keep things bottled up inside.

"I'm not gonna lie to you and say it'll go away, but it does get easier with time." His voice is hollow. I can almost taste the tears that lie in the back of his throat, just waiting for the perfect time to be let out.

"I know," I sigh. "Can we just go?"

"Um, sure. After you, sweetheart."


	3. Chapter 3

I always hated fall. It's like a slow and painful death. Everything in sight begins to deteriorate, harden, and eventually die. Every leaf turns brown, every sky goes grey, every soul turns cold. The bitter landscape becomes a landfill for lost dreams to come and die. The worst part is, it's only the beginning. The beginning of the end. Fall marks the time to sit back and remember all the things that have gone wrong. Every last one.

Complete silence accompanies me and Haymitch on our long walk to the cemetery. The only thing I can hear is the stiff grass crunching beneath my feet. A cool breeze sends a shiver down my spine as it blows by. The roads are hard. People have began to pave most of them since the rebuilding of the district began but many of them are still just hardened mud. My stomping feet tare into the muddy clumps, spewing dirt and debris into the air. Everything seems calm.

My fingers begin to grow cold and I dip them into my warm pocket, careful not to move too much and unbalance Haymitch who is still gripping my arm tight in an attempt not to fall over. The streets are empty, not a soul in sight, although maybe that's for the better. No more people to tell me they're _"sorry about my loss"_ or that _"he's in a better place now."_ Some time to get away from the world, at least for a moment.

The cemetery is small, not that extravagant. It lies on a large grassless patch next to the meadow. Simple stone headstones growing moss, vines, and other things jut out of the ground. I pick up four small rocks that lay in the dirt as we slowly pass row after row of graves. Somehow, almost a blessing in itself, the damages were minimal when the Capitol bombs hit it. Haymitch wriggles out of my grasp and limbs away. I'm about to go after him when I see it. My sisters grave.

Hot tears stream down my face as I read it.

_Here lays Primrose Marie Everdeen_

_friend, sister, daughter, healer_

_May she forever rest in peace_

I slowly kneel down on the hard grass and place one of the rocks on her headstone. I'm too choked up to speak but two words somehow escape my lips in a quiet sob.

"I'm sorry."

I cover my mouth, trying to hide my cries but it's no use. The loud wails soon devour any sanity that I have been holding onto. My hands move over my face in a failed attempt to hide myself from the world and I begin to bawl my eyes out even harder. My hands tremble with each cry that escapes my lips. When I finally lift up my head I glance to my left and see my father's headstone.

"Daddy," I whisper running my fingers over the smooth side of the stone. "I miss you!" I sniffle loudly, wiping my wet eyes with my hand. "I miss us going to the lake, and hunting in the woods, and our little old house, and hearing your voice. I don't know what to do. Everything is different now." I bite down on my lower lip hoping that no one close can hear my sobs.

For a while I just sit there in silence, too numb to move. Eventually I stand up and brush the dirt off my dress. Quiet tears still rain down my cheeks as I stumble to get back on the path. I'm almost to Gale's plot when I see Peeta standing a few feet away, silent with his hands in his pocket. His eyes are filled with fresh tears. His head bowed down in sorrow. As I step closer the words on the stone come to focus. It's his parents.

Almost right after I showed up the Capitol by dismantling the arena with it's own weapons, fire bombs started pouring down like rain here. Almost everything went up in flames. Gale led the survivors into the woods where after a couple of days the hovercrafts from District 13 brought them away from the burning rubble. Prim, my mother, Gale, his family, and only another 10% of the population made it to out alive. Peeta's family wasn't one of them.

They found his parents and two older brothers in the ruins of his families bakery. His parents were killed on impact but his brothers weren't as lucky. They survived the impact and tried to stop the smoke from reaching their lungs by holding damp rags to their mouths. It would have worked, if only there was a way out. When the bakery wall fell down it blocked any way of escaping the deadly fog. They suffocated to death, unable to escape.

There were so many people that died in the bombings that they had to create a mass grave. Since then it has become a place of sanctuary for all who's families died in the terrible attack, including Peeta. He comes here every first Saturday of the month. I understand why. Inside I think he feels responsible for his families death, just like I do for Prim's, though I don't feel any relief by visiting the dead. For me it only brings up the things I want to forget. I've only ever been here twice, to the cemetery. Once for my father's burial and once for Prim's. For me it's just too hard to face death. Too hard to face all the memories and people that occupy them. I honestly don't know how he does it, face this thing again, after all that has happened to us. He says that he likes the sadness, that it "means that it was real, that all of it was. All the memories and things that happened. Sometimes it's just good to know that you can still feel."

Sometimes I have to remember what it was like for him, before all this. He wasn't always aware of how bad things were or at least to the extent me and Gale were. He wasn't aware of the horrors that went on in people's mind.

As I walk towards him I try to remember the old him. The boy with the bread. The boy that risked a beating to give me some burnt bread. The one that gave me hope. The innocent merchant boy with the blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes that cried when his name was picked. That turn anything into a joke. How our lives have changed since then. Who would have thought things would turn out this way? We've both changed so much. The games have damaged us. The world has damaged us.

"Are you okay?" I say hugging his side and leaning my head against his shoulder.

He sighs. "Yeah, It just doesn't seem real sometimes." His eyes fix on the stone, unblinking. "Everything that's happened. Sometimes I just expect to be back in the bakery getting ready for the reaping, like this is all just some kind of dream." His grip on my arm stiffens. I can feel it. He's having another flashback.

I wrap my arms around him and run my fingers through his hair. Somehow this always brings him back when he's lost in his head.

"I know what you mean," I say.

The truth is I do. I know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night paralyzed with fear. I know what it's like to be trapped inside a dream that just won't ever end. Both the games and the war have changed our lives forever. Nothing seems normal anymore. I'm not even sure what normal is anymore.

"Um, we should get going. The funeral's gonna start soon," I say

His eyes finally break away from the stone and flutter around confused as he starts to remember where he is.

"Oh, um, yeah."

He gives me a him of a smile but it vanishes before I can truly see it.

"Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

My hand grips Peeta's forearm as we slowly walk to the funeral site. My head stays leaned against his shoulder until we're only twenty feet away. That's when I freeze.

Peeta tries walking forward but I let go of his arm and stay firmly planted on the ground, unmoving. First my arm begins to shake but then my entire body starts to tremble and my heart races like it did in the arena. Everything turns blurry and disfigured but I can still see Peeta inch towards me. He holds his hands out in front of him almost like he's worried I might going to explode.

All of a sudden I'm back in the arena. Glimmer's deformed body exploding with green puss. Rue's body falling on the ground like an injured lamb after slaughter. Marvel slowly bleeding out and dying in a warm pool of his own blood. Cato spitting out blood like a Capitol fountain. The morphling girl from District 6 being ripped apart by the monkey. Peeta lying on the ground, dead. Prim and Gale's tortured screams filling the air.

"It's okay. You're safe. Nothings going to happen," Peeta says slowly inching closer to me before wrapping his arms around my body. His strong arms give me structure but I still can't calm down. He begins to stroke my hair and nestle his head into the crook of my neck "It's okay. I'm right here."

Even with him there it takes a solid ten minutes for me to regain full control over my body. My stiff arms slowly grip around him and begin to relax as his warmth devours me. Everything around us seems to disappear, until he breaks away. His hands still holds mine but I start to freak out and hyperventilate. My eyes dart in every possible direction in a frantic manor, looking for a way out. It's only Peeta's smooth fingers making circles on my hand that keeps me from having another episode.

When we finally begin to step forward again the world around us goes silent. I can hear every footprint we make in the tough soil, every breath we let go of into the crisp air, and every heartbeat we skip when either one of us steps on a twig, like for a moment we're back in the games before quickly regaining a sense of reality.

As we get closer the crowd in front of us begins to part way. So many faces look at me it's hard to remember who is who but I know they're all there. Thom, Levy, Haymitch, Beetee, Delly, Johanna, Annie, Greasy Sea. Those are just the faces I can place. The number of people is almost overwhelming. It all feels like a dream. It just doesn't seem real, until Hazel's eyes meet mine.

Tears rain down my cheeks like a violent storm.

I look at the woman I have grown to admire and see how different she is. The hope in her eyes, saying that things can get better, has vanished. Her battered and worn out clothes no longer show struggle but defeat. She just looks broken. Posy clings to her leg, her cheeks wet pink like a dewy rose. Rory and Vick stand behind them. They both look so big. Not only physically but mentally. It is now clear to me how much of an effect Gale had on everyone, not just me.

It's okay, Katniss. Be strong. For Gale. The last words of my thought catch on my tongue as I repeat them over in my head. For Gale. I kick myself for letting that fact almost slip my mind. This isn't about me. This is for Gale.

I take a deep breath and try to ignore the pitiful stares that now surround me. Once I finally get to the front of the crowd I am pushed towards Hazelle, Posy, Rory, and Vick to stand next to the stone. Even strangers seem to know how close we were. It hurts me to think that just a few weeks ago even I had forgotten.

The new mayor clears his throat before beginning to speak. "Friends and Family, we have gathered here today to celebrate the life of Gale Hawthorne.


End file.
